Unspoken Whispers
by Fira21
Summary: Lived forever, and days passed in a blink of an eye to him, years in two, and everything faded into meshed emotions, but their time together always felt so there, so real, so perfect. It wouldn't last... Love. Janto Jack/Ianto one-shot fluff


For Kat, who introduced me to Torchwood, and canon slash.

**Edit**: I decided to explain this, as I think some are getting a little confused. This is in Jack's perspective. All of it. The italicized 'he's, 'his's, 'him's, etc. all refer to Ianto. Sorry that I didn't mention this before. Really sorry.

* * *

The thing was, he never expected it to happen again. Well, not really. It was more he promised to never _let it_ happen again. It hurt too much, he lived too long - _forever_ - and they too short - _not enough, never enough_ - for the - _very_ - few years of happiness it gave him.

Promised, _promised_ himself, because he could remember _her_ and _her_ and _him_ and so many - _so many_ - others, because he lived forever, and he always had to leave and they always had to die, and even a hundred years of unaged life was too much, let alone thousands - _forever_.

Pushed away the feelings and went for her even if she was married now, and they had danced, but then _they_ danced, and it was warm and beautiful and they fit together perfectly, they always had, especially when they kissed.

_He_ was amazing and intelligent and damn if _his_ coffee wasn't ambrosia and _his_ lips more so, and the look of _him_ made him dizzy, and the taste of _him_ made him weak, and that Was. Not. Good. Was _not_ good, because he had _promised_ himself. _Promised_, but he hadn't felt like this in so long so he thought it was alright, and he forgot how easily it was to fall - _fall hard_ - with the right person - _him_.

_Him_ in his arms, on his bed, arching, gasping, or overtop him, torturing him, and always - _always_ - driving him crazy even if _they_ weren't touching, because even when he just saw _him_ across the room working, especially if _their_ eyes met, he could think of nothing else but _him_. Touching _him_, even if it was just a brush; kissing _him_, even if it was only a peck; having sex, _making love_, and it had been a long time since he had used that phrasing. Love, _love love love_, and sonuva bitch he was so _screwed_.

Lived forever, and days passed in a blink of an eye to him, years in two, and everything faded into meshed emotions, but _their_ time together always felt so _there_, so _real_, so _perfect_.

It wouldn't last, _he_ would age, he wouldn't. _He_ would die - _die_ - just like the others - _her in his arms, crimson seeping slowly from her stomach as she bled out and one last final smile, a thank you, an 'it's alright' ……… him alone, never heard his last words, alone and dissolving in radiation with no one to hold his hand_ - and that thought made him so desperate one day that he sent her home early - _live one more day, enjoy one more moment, love your husband, love him dearly, never let him go, you could lose him, he could lose you, at any day_ - and took _him_ to his room, and spent hours - _hours_ - worshipping every last inch of _him_, taking _him_ again and again and storing every moan, every whimper, every cry, every _look_, hording it away for when _he_ was gone - _gone gone gone_ - and nothing but another ghost - _so many ghosts and where was the breaking point or had he already snapped and not realized it_.

Holding _him_ in his arms, _him_ asking what was wrong and him just shaking his head and kissing _him_, and kissing _him_ again, and again and again and again, and soon he was taking _him_ again, and afterwards _he_ was so exhausted _he_ fell asleep, almost comatose - _looking dead but for the flush on his cheeks and soft snores_ - in his grasp, and soon feeling the rare act of sleep grip him as well.

Waking to soothing words, hands on his face, and the sound of crying, and it took him some time to realize it was him crying and _he_ was holding him. Low shushing noises and a hand running through his hair. Holding _him_ tight and finally calming. _Him_ asking what's wrong - _again_ - and he wanted to shake his head - _again_ - but he started murmuring, and _his_ grip tightened as he spoke and at the end of it all - _though it was really just the beginning, but it all he could say right now_ - _he_ kissed him, slow and languid. Sweet and soft and afterwards _he_ just smiled. I can't promise you forever, _he_ said, neither can you, but I'm here now, for as long as possible, I'll be here for you.

He smiled back.

Me too...

There was more to say - _definitely so much more_ - but words still hurt too much. So it was good for now… For now.

Unspoken whispers float in the wind…

_I love you…_

_I love you too…_

_Love. Love, love, love…_

* * *

I'm not sure I like this yet... It's just... I'm not sure. It depends on the mood I'm in, because I can think of so many ways to portray Jack, this only being one of them, and when I'm thinking of a different portrayel, this one just seems so... sappy, I suppose is the word I'm looking for. Well, let me know what you think.

...It's getting to the point where my italicizing should be disabled, doncha think? But I just love it so much.

...I am the master of run-on sentences. Case in point: my longest paragraph is all one sentence... Does this annoy any of you? Or do you like the way it's written? I found it interesting to italicize the 'him's referring to Ianto, and also italicizing and underlining the 'their's referring to both of them. I just thought it would be a neat style.


End file.
